


Kubo Cuts His Strings

by telefool



Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telefool/pseuds/telefool
Summary: Sometimes, you must stand alone.





	Kubo Cuts His Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in a haze directly after watching the movie.

Thirteen years of sunrises he had seen, and had played a song for each that he could remember. Thirteen years of sunsets, and on the final night of his thirteenth year of light, like something from a dream, it came to Kubo what to do. He put his shamisen on his back, his pick to his front, and stepped from his home to watch the sunset, and for the first time, the moon rise.

First, his mother’s sisters, as beautiful as she’d described them, two perfect mirrors that absorbed the moonlight and reflected only darkness. They came to him across the ocean, skimming like a fishing bird.

“ **Kkuubboo** ,” They called to him, voices soft, like an unexpected blade whispering between your ribs. “We have come for your eye to give it to your grandfather.”

“I have never seen my grandfather.” Kubo said. “Show me him, so I may honor him properly first.”

And that being honorable and reasonable to the sterile moonlight, his mother’s sisters agreed, and carried him quickly up to the heavens where his grandfather ruled over the night.

When they arrived, brave like his mother, strong like his father, Kubo looked directly into the blinding moon, meeting his grandfather’s senseless gaze.

“Hello, Kubo.” His grandfather greeted him, and Kubo bowed his head as honor dictated, his shamisen weighing heavy on his back. “I hear you have come to gift me you eye. I did not know I had raised such a loyal grandson.”

“In time.” Kubo demurred politely. “First, I have another gift to honor you with.”

And then, swift, like a papercut he sliced the feet from his legs.

It was hard to stand before him, but Kubo had his shamisen, and his pride, cherished gifts from his mother.

“Have you ever felt sand, grandfather?” Kubo asked.

“No.” His grandfather replied.

“In the morning, wet from the dew, even inside your cave it sticks to your toes.” Kubo told him. It would be his first story with no monsters. “And at night, when you tuck your feet into your bedroll, it crumbles away like dreams do.”

“I have never felt sand.” His grandfather said, ignoring the feet placed before him. “I have no need. The heavens keep me far from the dirt.”

“I am sorry grandfather.” Kubo said. “I can tell my present has displeased you.”

“I want your eye.” His grandfather said with the calm malice of someone who has watched a hundred, million lives end under their light.

“Oh, of course.” Kubo said. “But let me honor you with a better gift first.”

And cleaner than moonlight, he sliced his legs from his body.

“Have you ever walked to the village at dawn, grandfather?” Kubo asked.

“Never.” His grandfather said shortly.

“The first steps are hard. You are tired, and lazy from sleep and dreams. But, the faster you go, the more your legs stretch, take you faster and faster.”

“I have no village.” His grandfather said. “These are useless. Give me your eye!”

“Let me try to honor you again, grandfather.” Kubo said, ignoring his scoff. And with a strum of his fingers, he sliced his chest apart to get to his heart.

“Have you ever loved grandfather?” Kubo asked. Watched with his only eye as the old, old man shook his head. “It is hard to hold rice with chopsticks in small hands, exhausted from playing. Harder to be the reason a person wants to live, but if you had loved, you’d understand.”

His grandfather crushed his heart like a plum in the palm of his hand, and Kubo watched it drip onto the paper of his palace.

“Your eye, grandson.”

“In time.” Kubo said, with the patience of a storyteller used to crowds, hungry and impatient. “Please accept another gift.”

Something more, he thought. He plucked his shamisen with his teeth to cut off his arms.

“Do you play, grandfather?” He asked, and his grandfather shook his head. “Have you ever braided hair?”

His grandfather paused.

“Perhaps.” He said, after a long moment, as though he’d traveled far. “When my daughters were very young, and the world had just begun.”

He looked at the arms on his now stained floor, and added. “It hardly matters.”

“It’s like chasing ribbons in the wind, kite strings.” Kubo said wistfully. “But in the end her smile was always worth it-”

“This matter not, child.” His grandfather replied finally. “You must give me your eye, or die.”

“Another gift.” Kubo told him, and his voice sang like a plucked string as he cut the cords.

Voiceless, he told his grandfather every tale his mother had ever told him. Every story he’d learned in the village, and the stories he’d learned from his dreams.

“Your eye! Your eye!” His grandfather cried, his face creased, but Kubo refused.

Another gift, and suddenly the world around them rustled like a thousand sheaves of paper as his ears fell in offering. Another gift, and his grandfather breathed salty ocean air, as his lungs fell to the floor. 

“If you don’t give me your eye, I’ll kill you.” His grandfather said, voice desperate. It sounded higher now, more like Kubo’s.

_ Alright grandfather _ , Kubo sang through the air, the wind, the first note played.  _ You may have my eye, now that you know how to see. _

And so Kubo let his eye roll from his body, dead. And finally able to see what he had done, his grandfather began to weep from two fresh eyes.

Kubo, weightless, like a piece of paper riding a song, drifted from the heavens, finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/telefool)


End file.
